


Mercy In Us

by Val_Creative



Series: Warlock & His Dollophead [31]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Magic, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uther and Balinor's kingdoms have been at odds with each other for well over twenty years. Their sons have never met. Arthur doesn't even know what he looks like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy In Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eudoxia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eudoxia/gifts).



> (A very special thank you to my friends on Skype who encouraged this on, even when I was whining, and The Merlin Family as well as The Warlock and His King Network on Tumblr for being a wonderfully excitable bunch ❤ ❤ ❤ )
> 
> To **EVERY** person who has read or left kudos or commented during May--this journey has been amazing, and I'm grateful you took it with me. I didn't expect this challenge to get so much attention and love, and I'm speechless and SO so awed by your kindness and interest and _thank you_. Be safe and healthy and I hope I see you all again soon! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Day #31: "winner's choice"

*

 

When Arthur wakes, it feels as if he had been slipped a triple dose of Gaius's sleeping draft, and still needed to recover from it.

His skull protests to the change in weight, throbbing quite like a drum, as he tilts it up.

The last thing he remembers was aiding Leon on the battlefield, knocking away the sword of a furious, snarling bandit meaning to run him through. A crossbow going off somewhere in the distance. And now Arthur was coming out of deep state of unconsciousness, body aching and lying back on a pile of soft pillows. How did he get… ?

This isn't Camelot.

This isn't his chambers, not with the strangely patterned wood-paneling above him, not with the lack of velvety curtains around Arthur's bed.

And certainly not with the glittering metal chains wrapped firmly to Arthur's wrists, keeping his hands to the bedposts.

"Up and at'em!" rings out a cheerful voice.

Arthur's vision spins a moment as he jerks his head to the source.

A lad, perhaps several name-days younger than Arthur, approaches him, smiling like a complete fool. He wears a long, bright blue robe that goes to his feet and with sleeve-ends that cover the tips of his fingers. When he rakes his hands to black curls, they fall away and reveal pale, thin arms.

"Who the hell are _you_?" Arthur's voice grows from confused to enraged.

How dare this _peasant_ —

"I'm Merlin," the lad says, flashing teeth once again in another wide, unassuming smile.

"What is this?" Arthur tests the strength of the chains to his wrists, finding with some dismay that they clink and _tighten_ up. "Where are my men— _WHO_ are you?"

Merlin snorts at him, eyes on the magical bindings.

"I've told you that," he repeats. "Don't worry, you're safe and far, far away from the battle. You could have died. I brought you here."

(But _where_ was here?)

Dread filters in through Arthur's chest, quickening his breath. Had he been kidnapped…? Or was this a ransom?

"Then let me free, _Mer_ lin," he grits out, expression twisting unpleasantly.

"Why? So you can go get yourself killed again?"

 _Again_.

His eyebrows furrow together, as he tries to piece together the possible reason Merlin looks both utterly frustrated and mournful. But Arthur doesn't believe he'll tell him, likely not until it suited the lad. Arthur tries his restraints once more, crying out sharply when the glittering chains _squeeze_ down on him, as if reacting to his movement.

Merlin rolls his eyes, frowning. "Will you _stop_ that? It'll only get worse if you keep at it."

"I want to know how I got here!" Arthur yells at him, face reddening.

"Knocked you out," he says, deadpan. When Arthur stares ridiculously disbelieving, Merlin adds, "With a lump of wood. A very large one for your very large head."

Despite a murderous instinct to remove Merlin's skull from his shoulders, Arthur feels a light, tickley sensation in his gut. He's _amused_.

That is until Merlin's hand outstretches to the bedchamber's fireplace, and the cold, dark embers spark to life.

Arthur's legs curl in to himself, fear pounding through him as Merlin's irises shine a radiant gold. "You're a sorcerer," Arthur mumbles, pressing himself closer to the headboard and the mound of pillows.

Merlin observes him in acceptance, as if expecting it.

"I was born with it. As I suppose you were born a prince, _milord_."

He chuckles quietly as Arthur's eyes narrow in determination.

"I don't consort with sorcerers," he says.

Arthur winces a little as the glittering chains fell apart, with a flick of warm, pulsing magic. It skims Arthur's cheek, humming and _lovely_.

Merlin tells him, with a mocking tone, "Good thing I'm not a _sorcerer_ then."

Arthur's wrists ring with color, with purpling and dark marks. He looks down, rubbing at them insistently.

Now able to get away, Arthur pushes to one side on the bed in a roll and groans out as a surge of horrific _agony_ branches out through his upper back, seizing up his neck and going down his spine. He gives in to it, whimpering as Merlin rolls him back, shushing him.

"Don't. You're not fully recovered." Arthur feels a cool hand to his brow, Merlin's thumbpad soothing over the lines to his forehead.

He cracks an eye open, but not relaxing to the pillows.

"Why?"

It's a single, breathy question that escapes Arthur's lips. Merlin shakes his head, chewing his lower lip.

"You had an arrow in your back," he answers.

"But _why_?"

(Why are you doing this?)

It hangs between them, fogging the calm.

"You were dying, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin says finally, rasping. "You're meant to end the war against Albion and magic. How could I even _think_ of letting you die?"

There it was. Whether or not it was selfish motivation, Arthur had heard enough from him.

He sneers at Merlin, with a bloody film still on Arthur's teeth. "Do you think you can _seduce_ me with your magic?"

"No," Merlin says, his lips quirking. "I can do that fine on my own."

The warlock crawls up on the bed, hands touching over Arthur's ripped, maroon tunic. He leans in, breathing in his scent as Arthur's chin turns away, leaving only his profile exposed. Arthur knows he smelled like the battlegrounds, dirt and blood and sweat. He can't imagine its appeal.

"… You're untried."

Every inch of Arthur ripples with embarrassed heat as Merlin acknowledges this gently. He scowls, facing Merlin once more.

"I'm betrothed," Arthur says, feeling it was a weak argument.

But Merlin doesn't ridicule him, only nodding.

"She's very lucky, but I doubt you'll make her happy."

"Why is that?"

Merlin smirks, reaching down to press an open hand on Arthur's semi-hard cock. The sweet pressure floods through Arthur, stifling an exhale, and making him far more harder.

"Just a _feeling_ is all," he teases.

Merlin's fingers tease the outline, grasping slowly at Arthur through his trousers. He pulls Arthur's cock out, earning him a satisfied noise. Merlin licks his palm, rhythmically stroking the length of bare skin. "So you put a babe in her belly… and you've done your duty for king and country?" Merlin's whisper falls like hot puffs to Arthur's ear.

Arthur grips a hand onto Merlin's hip, bunching up the soft, blue fabric. Too flimsy. Merlin's not close enough for him.

" _Yes_ ," he moans, but not sure if it was to the inquiry.

Magic—it has to be _magic_ —glides under Arthur's clothing, keeping to him like a warm, rustling and _living_ pressure.

Arthur's lips press to Merlin's jaw, opening there.

"Gods, _Merlin_ ," he pants, digging his fingers harshly into black curls as Merlin changes his pace, stroking Arthur off faster. "It's… "

"I think it likes you," Merlin replies, grinning against Arthur's throat.

The magic hums loudly in their ears, as if agreeing, caressing invisible tendrils down Arthur's legs and calves. It draws shudders from Arthur, echoing pleasure, helping him bring off against Merlin's hand and slicking it, leaving visible droplets of Arthur's seed to the ripped, maroon tunic.

Merlin bent his head low, kissing the ring on Arthur's left index finger. His _mother's_ ring.

"Let's end this war between our realms," he murmurs, devoutly.

Arthur's heart speeds up.

"Merlin…" he says, in hitched breathing, in realization. Oh, gods damn him. "Merlin _Emrys_ … "

"Yes, milord."

Arthur insists, hand leaving Merlin's hair, mouth dropping open, "Why are you… you're a crowned _prince_. You are Nimueh's and Balinor's son."

"End all of this bloodshed and hatred with me." Merlin's eyes begin watering as he says, voice shaking, "Arthur, your heart is pure. I watched you. I've seen you in my dreams." He wipes at his face, clutching Arthur's ringed hand to him like a lifeline. "I saw _you_ die, and I know there will be consequences for stopping it, but _please_ … "

 _Consequences_ …

That was putting it mildly. The matters of life and death had taken Arthur's mother, and as Gaius confessed to him and Uther purposely left out, _against_ the wishes of Merlin's own mother. Arthur had never met Nimueh's child. Only heard of his sorcery, of his mighty powers and elusive nature.

But Merlin was nothing fearsome as he cries with red-tinged eyes and splotched cheeks, about _Arthur_ , about their fate.

"If I am returned to Camelot, then I swear it to you, Merlin." Arthur meets his gaze, solemn. "It ends," he says.

"I swear it," Merlin tells him, nostrils wet, lying his head to Arthur's shoulder. A sniffling, relieved sound leaves Merlin as Arthur's hand runs up his back comfortingly. The pillows feel like heaven to Arthur's sore-aching back and he _relaxes_ to them, his head no longer pounding.

He needs to believe Merlin will hold his word.

He _needs_ him.

 

*


End file.
